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Kelaru & Fulton rating: ★★★★★
Runtime: 2 hrs 17 mins
I had high expectations for I’m Still Here, given that it comes from director Walter Salles, the filmmaker behind The Motorcycle Diaries, where he so masterfully captured the formative years of Che Guevara, played by Gael García Bernal.
Greatness was delivered.
In a way, I’m Still Here also explores a pivotal period — this time, in the life of real-life human rights activist Eunice Paiva, whose husband, Rubens Paiva, a former congressman, was forcibly disappeared by Brazil’s military regime in 1971.
The film follows the Paiva family — father, mother, and their five children, aged 5 to 16 — as they try to create a sense of normalcy despite living under an oppressive dictatorship. At first, it seems they are succeeding. The early scenes depict an idyllic family life in Brazil: the Paivas live in a beautiful house by the beach, enjoying easy access to the sea, restaurants, and a close-knit circle of friends and family. They live with warmth and joy, raising their children to be kind, loving, and free thinkers.
One of the film’s most striking achievements is its realistic portrayal of life under military rule. Unlike many films that focus on acts of resistance, I’m Still Here captures the way most people in authoritarian regimes are forced to adapt — choosing survival over open defiance. Not everyone has the privilege or the means to fight back, and many simply try to live their lives while avoiding the regime’s scrutiny.
The film powerfully conveys this delicate balance. In one early scene, as the Paiva family enjoys a perfect day at the beach, Salles builds tension not by focusing on the ocean, as one might expect, but by directing Eunice’s gaze toward the distant town, where military trucks filled with soldiers roll in. The contrast between the serene beach and the ominous vehicles is chilling — it reminded me of the first glimpse of the shark’s fin cutting through the water in Jaws.
As we get to know the Paivas, we learn that Rubens, once a congressman, was forced into exile earlier in his career. Now working as an architect, he is no longer directly involved in politics, though his past connections keep him on the radar of the regime. Meanwhile, Brazil is becoming increasingly volatile. The kidnapping of the German ambassador by the MR-8 Revolutionary Movement has heightened state paranoia, and the secret police are growing more aggressive.
At the time, kidnappings were a brutal reality in Brazil — practiced by both the regime and revolutionary groups. The military dictatorship, which ruled from 1964 to 1985, was a key player in Operation Condor, a secret alliance of South American dictatorships (including Argentina, Chile, Uruguay, Paraguay, and Bolivia) that coordinated political repression. Many victims of these regimes were kidnapped, tortured, and executed, their bodies discarded in so-called ‘death flights’ over the ocean.
This grim backdrop becomes personal when Rubens is taken into custody by the Brazilian secret police. Eunice knows exactly what this could mean — even though he is innocent, his fate is far from certain.
From this moment on, the film’s tone darkens. The vibrant colors of the Paivas’ world begin to fade as Eunice desperately searches for answers in the days following Rubens’ disappearance, all while trying to protect her children from the painful truth. It’s an impossible situation — no mother should have to navigate the loss of a loved one while shielding her children from the horror of that reality.
Fernanda Torres delivers a stunning performance as Eunice. She rarely allows herself to break down in front of others, keeping her emotions — grief, rage, fear — bottled up, only allowing them to surface when she’s alone, with only us — the audience — as witness. At the same time, her motherly instincts are constantly tested as she struggles to balance protecting her younger children’s innocence with preparing her older ones for the cruel world they are coming of age in.
In reality, Eunice Paiva didn’t learn the truth about her husband’s fate until 25 years after his disappearance. By then, the family had long accepted that he would never return, but the confirmation of his death reopened old wounds. Yet, as the film beautifully captures, the Paivas emerged stronger, bound together by love and resilience.
And that is ultimately what I’m Still Here is about — family.
A family built on love, respect, and honesty has the power to endure even the greatest tragedies. And, in doing so, it can pass those values on to the next generation, ensuring that their values live on, even in the face of oppression.